Going Back
by Crazeenerd
Summary: What if they had a helping hand?


Going Back

Chapter 1

Mister White

The man opened his eyes with a gasp he was lying on his back on a dirt road in the middle of a desert some would wonder how he got there and for a moment so did he until the cobwebs in his head cleared and he remembered what had happened he took a deep breath and sat up. He was in his twenties, tall and well built with messy dark brown hair and deep blue eyes he was unshaven, unkempt and dirty wearing a pair of black trousers covered in dirt a white T-shirt that now looked grey, a tattered brown leather jacket and a pair of boots that were barely staying together. He got to his feet and looked around for any signs of civilisation it was night and his vision was limited but he was able to see a roadside bar in the distance that looked to be filled with drunk bikers and their "old ladies."

The man sighed again and rubbed his tired eyes. "Jesus I could use a cigarette." He groaned his voice dry as if he hadn't had anything to drink for a while. "And a beer by the sound of it." He coughed and headed to the bar. Sure enough the inside of the smoky and dirty bar was populated by about 12 bikers and "old ladies" and 3 staff a bartender and two waitresses dressed in tops and skirts that would work better as underwear for all it covered. Some non sensical biker tune was being belted out by the juke box that sounded like something having an episode in a room full of guitars and drums and the place smelled like a toilet. Several eyes locked on the man at once he was not the typical costumer of a bar like this and the regulars did not like that. "Tough shit." The man thought he had asked to be dropped outside their sticking hole but he was going to make the beast of a bad job.

He marched up to the bar tender a dirty looking guy in his forties and asked. "What state am I in?" The bartender spat out a gruff. "What?" The man looked annoyed but kept his cool. "What state am I in?" He said again slower. "New Mexico why?" The bartender said the man cracked a small smile. "Figures what's the date? Day, month and year?" He asked confusing the bartender even further. "12th February 1992. You on something boy?" He asked the man ignored him and asked another question. "Nearest town?" Though he would settle for the nearest building that didn't smell like urine this time the bartender didn't answer because a large biker stood up with three cronies on his tale and walked up behind the man.

"Who the fuck are you pipsqueak? And why are you asking these weird ass questions?" He growled the man turned round and sized up the tattooed, leather clad slab of fat and skin he walked up to the man and stared for a second then without warning pulled back then slammed his forehead into the biker's nose. The vicious headbutt downed the biker in seconds the act of slamming the hard bone of your forehead into the soft cartilage of a nose was like hitting a thin clay pot with a sledgehammer. It also had the same effect as pulling a 45 Magnum in a knife fight everyone backed off and reconsidered their position the man took a moment to make sure the blow hadn't dulled his senses (they hadn't) then said very calmly. "Non of your business fatso. Anyone else what to try your luck?"

His challenge was not accepted the bikers took two large steps back and stayed there. "Good choice nearest town?" He said the bartender now reaching for something under the bar counter answered sounding nervous. "Carter's Lake about three miles North." The man nodded and said. "Thanks now touch that shotgun your reaching for and I'm going to remove your arm at the shoulder." The bartender froze his fingers a few inches from a sawn off shotgun nearby the man bent down and searched the floored biker finding a wallet, a set of keys, a small revolver and a flick knife. The man checked the revolver was loaded which it was and pointed it at the bartender. "Hand me the shotgun, hold it by the barrel and don't do anything stupid if that's possible." He ordered calmly the bartender did as he was told.

"Now the spare ammo and all the cash in the till." Once again the bartender did as he was told he was no hero and the cash in the till wasn't worth getting his head blown off. "Thanks what's this asshole drive?" He asked the bartender shrugged but one of the biker's answered. "Brown pickup out back." The man raised an eyebrow and said. "Not much of a biker is he? Whatever I'm leaving anyone follows me I'll kill them and leave their bodies in the desert for the buzzards clear?" Everyone nodded as the man headed for the exit. "Hey man who the fuck are you?" One of the bikers asked the man seemed to consider then said. "Call me Mister White asshole." He said and left he had a lot of work to do and several years to do it in and he wasn't going to let anyone get in his way all but first he had to find Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.


End file.
